


Hating the Chosen One

by sorbriquette



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Arguably Canon Compliant, Leavers Ball, Love Confessions, M/M, idiots being soft, simon being sad about his magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorbriquette/pseuds/sorbriquette
Summary: I'd thought perhaps we were past this after our conversation in the middle of the dancefloor. But I suppose that's part of it, sometimes things that need to be said should just be between us, not the entire year group."What, you think the Chosen One could have done better?"His head falls again, but not back to my shoulder, just in front of him, I feel him slump beside me. "I mean- yeah."





	Hating the Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know I have WIP that needs updating. No I haven't written it.
> 
> Have this instead????

**Baz**

Simon is still a little out of sorts when we make it up to our room. Or  _ my  _ room I suppose. But only for one more night, then some lucky first years will get it next year.

But as far as I'm concerned, it's still  _ our  _ room, even if Snow hasn't been here all semester. It's still  _ ours _ . It's been ours for eight years and frankly, with the amount of time I spend thinking about Simon, it's like he's here all the time.

He stares out the open window, leaning his forearms on the ledge and letting the cold night air seep into the room. For once, I don't chastise him for it.

"You don't have to stay, not if you don't want to," I speak the words softly. More softly than I'd usually allow. But Snow is delicate right now and requires a somewhat gentler touch than usual.

Delicate is never a word I thought I'd use to describe Simon Snow. He always seemed so immovable. Not unshakable per se, but stubborn and resolute. Powerful. Even when I drew tears from his eyes there was an edge of defiance to it. Hurt, wounded, but never weak, never crumbling.

And now?

"I want to-" he says slowly, tearing his gaze away from the window and back to me, "I'll stay the night and help you move out tomorrow." He gives me a weak sort of smile, eyes falling to the floor for but a moment before he looks out the window again.

"Simon," I say because that's the quickest way to get him to let me in. I reach a hand out to rest on his shoulder, rubbing circles with my thumb. A gesture to comfort him but not crowd him, I'm still far out of his space. "I can handle it, you don't have to stay."

"Forgive me for trying to spend time with my boyfriend that I've barely seen over the past few months."

I do see a genuine smile tug at his lips this time though, so I suppose that's progress.

"You can see me as much as you want from tomorrow onwards, you know?"

He gives a small sort of shrug, then reaches a hand up to cover mine so I know he wasn't trying to dislodge my grip. "I'm fine, this- tonight- it isn't about me. You've graduated, top of the class too, you absolute tosser. This is about you."

"I already got to make a speech and attend a ball," I tell him as his eyes drift away from me again, "one you showed up to, even though I know it hurts to be back. You've done more than I could ask for tonight, so let me look after you now."

"I'm alright Baz," he assures me again even though he obviously isn't. His hand falls away from mine and I think he might pull away but instead, he just moves into me, hands finding my waist as they slip into my suit jacket. It almost makes me believe him.  "I want to stay. I never really got to say goodbye to this room, it was the only home I've ever really had."

He's still not looking me in the eye, his gaze is levelled somewhere around my throat and even his touch feels uncertain. I still have a hand resting on his shoulder but I raise it until my palm is against his cheek and my fingers are threaded through bronze curls, bringing my other hand up to mirror it on the other side of his face. But I don't make him look at me. I don't want to make him do anything he doesn't want to. Instead, I just lean down and press my lips gently to his forehead.

I keep them there, not kissing him anymore, but just resting my lips against his forehead, unruly curls ticking my nose and cheeks. I might find that distracting or uncomfortable if I wasn't so busy breathing him in.

He doesn't push me away, barely moving as he speaks. "Seven and a half years here, living alone with you, all the privacy in the world and I never got to snog the life out of you in here."

I can't help but chuckle a little, letting his skin swallow the sound. "I think you were more concerned with never getting to sock me in the nose in here."

He echoes my laughter but somehow gentler and softer, "wonder if the Anathema still works."

I'm about to comment but his head tilts up and I think that maybe, finally, he's going to look at me, so I go to pull back. Before I get the chance though, there are teeth scraping down my cheek and along the underside of my jaw as he closes them. It doesn't hurt so much as simply send a shiver down my spine but before I can even comment, it’s just warm lips soothing the area.

My hands move further into his hair, thumb tracing a gentle caress across his cheek as I move them. And he withdraws, whether because of that or not I can't bring myself to regret it.

"Guess not." He does look at me this time, the most hesitant of smiles across his lips. It only grows when I lean down and place a kiss on his nose.

I don't know how he knows I'm tired but he does because he steps away from me and moves back to his place at the window. "Go on, get changed, I'll be fine."

It has been a long day and as much as I treasure the image of Simon in a suit, I'm sure we'll be much more comfortable in pyjamas and bed. So, I give him one last look over, slow and greedy, trying to memorise this moment like I never think I'll get another.

If he feels my gaze, he doesn't say anything.

I reluctantly part from the view, grabbing a pair of pyjamas and heading to the bathroom to change. We've not seen each other enough over the past few months to quite pass that hurdle.

"You're welcome to anything in my wardrobe," I tell him, getting little more than a nod in return before I close the door.

I still shower in the mornings so it's not a particularly arduous action, just a quick change. And then back to Snow.

Back to a Snow who has a pair of my pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips, tail having apparently reappeared and peeking out of the waistband. He's seated himself tentatively on the bed but he looks like he may leap off at any moment like he thinks he's not supposed to be on it.

I sit down on the other side, shoulder bumping into his intentionally.

I don't want to ask if he's okay again, I don't want to push, so instead, I grasp for something else. "You didn't need to close the window for me," I tell him. After all, we'd fought over it, it feels stupid to concede now. Especially after I've been able to keep it closed for months.

Been able to, but not always have.

Snow kept it open so sometimes, if I particularly missed him, I would go to bed with it open. Try to pretend he's here or pull at some of that old loathing so it wouldn't ache as much. But I never lasted particularly long. With no one around to posture for I succumbed quite quickly.

"I didn't close it for you," he says slowly fidgeting with his own fingers in his lap, "I get- I get cold now. Sometimes. Don't run as hot."

"Do you want to sleep separately, I'll only make you colder."

And it's true, once upon a time, the chill of my skin could have been a blessing for Snow, an aid. But now it just feels as worthless as the rest of me.

I'm still only pressed to his shoulder, waiting for him to take what he wants when he's ready. And he does. He tucks his legs up beneath him and turns a little on the bed till he can nestle his face into the crook of my shoulder. Almost reflexively my hand comes up to tangle in his hair but he doesn't pull away so I let it settle there.

"But then who's going to keep you warm?" He practically purrs into my neck, though there's still an edge of worry to his voice, a hesitancy. I go to respond but then his hand is over the bottom half of my face in what I think is a sign to shut up even though he's covering more chin and cheeks than lip. "I'll share. I might get cold but I produce a lot more body heat than you."

I want to respond. To tell Snow that he doesn't have to worry about me, that I'm not his responsibility. But he taps his fingers against my face to remind me to keep my mouth shut.

"I want to stay," he tells me again, this time pulling away and starting to tuck himself under the blankets, resting his back against the wall. "I don't mind the cold, it's more comfortable if anything, just- it's just because it reminds me something is missing."

I give a sigh and crawl in beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulders, running my hand slowly up and down his bicep. "And yet you were standing in front an open window not minutes ago."

He drops his head onto my shoulder and pulls his knees up into him and rests them over my legs. "Getting used to it I suppose, accepting it."

I press a kiss into his hair, but I think he still wants to say something. So I say nothing. I just wait. Now is not the time to rush him.

"Sorry I can't keep you warm anymore."

I scoff because I feel the need to because no matter how delicate this is, he doesn't want to be coddled and I don't want to coddle him. "That's not your responsibility." I could tell him that it doesn't matter as long as he's not too hot anymore if he doesn't feel like he's overflowing. That I wouldn't wish discomfort let alone hurt on him for the sake of myself. But he doesn't want to hear it.

He was the Chosen One, destined to save the world, supposed to help everyone and follow orders. It's never been about him, it's always been about everyone else. So, I don't really think 'it's better for you' is an argument he wants to hear.

"And you do keep me warm, whether you think it or not."

This time when he flicks his head up, he does catch the bottom of my chin a little but I pull back fast enough that he can't do any serious damage.

"I can't though, not like I used to."

I'd thought perhaps we were past this after our conversation in the middle of the dancefloor. But I suppose that's part of it, sometimes things that need to be said should just be between us, not the entire year group.

"What, you think the Chosen One could have done better?"

His head falls again, but not back to my shoulder, just in front of him, I feel him slump beside me. "I mean- yeah."

I let my head roll back and hit the wall, affixing my eyes to the ceiling and tugging at the edge of the blanket some. "You know I don't  _ want  _ a Chosen One, right?"

He scoffs and as much as I don't want to look at him right now, I try to level a glare at him. It doesn't matter, he's not looking at me.

"Snow,  _ this _ ," I gesture between us, "I can't have this with a Chosen One."

His eyes shift toward me and I resist the urge to look away again. Instead, I keep my frown leveled at his face, hoping my disagreement can mask all the other feelings I'm about to confess to. Again.

"I was supposed to kill the Chosen One. Or he was supposed to kill me. And I was going to let him." I admit, shock and anger flitting across Snow's features. But he always takes time to process his words, so I press on before he can manage it. "The Chosen One sided with the man who killed my mother and the system that is trying to drain our coffers." I don't say the Mage, or Davy, even just alluding to him is something of a sore spot still, but I have to make a point. "The Chosen One had some perfect destiny with a pretty, kindly,  _ living _ ,  _ girl _ . And he was supposed to spend his whole life fighting off magickal creatures. Another reason he would've had to kill me."

And now Snow's not looking at me, he's staring down at his hands again, picking at a nail and chewing his lip. "You're not dead, Baz, not really," I take my turn to scoff, "and I don't want a girl. Or a boy really. I don't want anyone but you." His fingers tentatively untangle from themselves and he reaches out to rest a hand on mine, where I've got the blanket in a too tight grip I hadn't even noticed.

"And I don't want a Chosen One. The Chosen One is just a list of reasons we shouldn't be together. Of why we couldn't be together. You think we wouldn't have snogged each other senseless in here if you weren't the Chosen One? If you were just my stupidly hot, very dumb, roommate?"

Snow shrugs, "I'm pretty sure the barrier to anything between us was you being emotionally repressed and covering up your feelings by being a colossal prick." It's true and I don't really appreciate him saying it, but it is a valid point and he squeezes my hand as he says it so it's hard to really take offence. Particularly given I just called him dumb.

"That was oddly insightful of you, Snow."

"I might be dumb," he says the word mockingly like he knows I don't mean it and nor does he, "but I'm very educated on the subject of you."

I give a small hum, head tilting sideways some and properly taking him in now because it's easier when we're like this. When it's mocking banter not feelings being shared. "I suppose. But had I not tried to kill you, you think you'd have managed to resist me for eight years?"

"How do you know that's not part of your appeal?"

"Trying to kill you?" I give him a dubious look, arching one eyebrow as high as I can manage.

"Yeah, I could be into it, we don't know?"

"Well, we know the Anathema doesn't work and I'm sure I could fit you out the window if you really want to test that out."

He gives a gentle laugh, head falling back onto my shoulder, the press of wet lips gentle against my throat. I don't so much laugh as give an amused huff but it feels like progress, nonetheless.

Several moments pass and Snow seems contented to not speak. So, I direct my gaze to the ceiling again and press on with the problem. "I don't want the Chosen One. I've  _ never  _ wanted the Chosen One. I only ever wanted you, Simon Snow."

I feel his wavering worry in the way his hand softens in mine. So, I squeeze it for but a moment, before taking it out of mine and instead running my fingertips in slowest, gentles of patterns across the back of his hand.

"I'm not sure who that is anymore," his admission is accompanied by his lips leaving my neck, instead replaced with the sweep of soft bronze curls that I cherish near as much as the kiss.

"I know who you are," I assure him because I've been in love with him far too much for far too long to notice. "You're the disgusting creature who spent our first few years of school eating butter with a spoon. You're the idiot who could never get a sentence right, let alone a spell. You're the dickhead who insisted on leaving the window open every night even though I produce near no body heat."

More laughter from him this time. But it's more genuine and far more tender. Almost soft.

At least that means he hasn't taken offence.

"You're the kid who broke my nose because I was being an ass to him. And the fool who followed me right to a Chimera even though he knew I was up to something. And the fucking nightmare who came back to school, despite everything that happened here, just because you knew I'd want you here."

"And for the sandwiches. Cook Pritchard makes really good sandwiches."

I take my turn to laugh, grateful that he knows me well enough to joke. To break up all this emotional garbage with something else. Helping me press on. "You, Simon Snow, are so fucking thick and unapologetic and stubborn and brave and selfless and fucking wonderful. And I want you to get your magic back, but only so you stop hurting, only because it might make you happy. Shite magician or magick-less one, I don't care. I want you Simon, not your magic."

I wonder if maybe that's a part of this. That Simon's magic wasn't just a part of him, but also what drew people to him. Because it did. He reeked of magic and magicians like magic. Maybe that  _ was  _ the reason some people took to him so quickly. It shouldn't be, but I don't doubt that it was.

He pulls his hand out from under mine, ceasing my ministrations, and I stop the ones against his upper arm too, worried that I've said something wrong.

Both of his hands fall to my cheeks and he tilts my head a little so he can look me in the eye. And apparently, so he can lean in until the space between our lips is near non-existent. "Baz, you're amazing too and-"

I silence him by closing the space between us and taking his lips in mine. "Shut up, Snow." I murmur against him, pulling away every so often and leaning back in if he tries to speak.

But he's stubborn and I should know, I just told him. So his hands fall to my shoulders and he pushes me away. "No, let me speak. You're brilliant-"

"Shut up," I hiss again, not in disappointment from the absence of his lips, though there's certainly that. I take the moment Simon starts grasping for what to say to continue. "This isn't about flattery or compliments, Snow. This is me explaining to you that you're still worth something despite not being the Chosen One. And me telling you I'm not going to leave you because of it."

He tries to speak again but it's more sputtered fragments than words. Usually, I'd enjoy that but right now I just need him to shut up and listen to me.

"Simon, you're not lesser because your magic is gone, you're still you." I take a deep steadying breath, wishing for a moment there was a roof I could stare at again, but Snow is right in front of me and he's so close so there's nowhere to look but him. And nowhere I'd rather be looking. "I  _ hated  _ the Chosen One. But Simon Snow? He was everything I loved. And I still love you, Simon Snow. And if my loathing for the Chosen One couldn't change that, his absence certainly won't."

Snow's features are slack as he stares at me, save his eyes which are pulled wide. And this time he kisses me first, pulls me into him and grasps at me.

I don't have it in me to make him let go. I don't think he ever intends to let go. We're laying down properly, Snow atop me, kisses becoming sleepy and lethargic before his grip even loosens.

I didn't expect him to say it back.

I don't expect him to say it for a very long time yet.

But it doesn't hurt, knowing that Simon Snow doesn't love me. Because it feels like there's an almost definite 'yet' on the end of that. And he smiles and giggles as he snogs me breathless. So I've made him happy. Maybe not as happy as having his magic back would make him, but it's something.

I'm not sure when I fall asleep but I know when I awake that it is not morning.

"Baz," Snow gives the arm I have around his waist a gentle shake, drawing out a long slow, "Baz."

I groan and try to swat his hand away, "go to fucking sleep, Snow."

"No, Baz, wake up," he's a little louder this time and his shaking escalates to pushing on my shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I manage, somehow, despite the hour.

"Nothing, I just need to talk to you." He doesn't sound tired. Crowley, how does he not sound tired. Maybe I hate Simon Snow now too.

"In the morning."

I feel him shake his head where it's still resting on my chest, "no, now, it's important."

I don't respond, half hoping he gets off me so I can roll over and bury my face into the pillow. "Fuck off."

"Baz," he hisses again.

I groan, bringing a hand up to rub at my eyes. "This better be important, or I may actually leave you." At this time of night, I'm not sure if I'm joking or not.

I feel him perk up and he props himself up so he can look at my face. I, in turn, struggle to try and keep my eyes open so I can return the gesture.

"I'm sorry I got caught up earlier in- in well - you," he sputters out.

"Crowley, get on with it or so help me Snow I will end you."

"Arsehole," he huffs out under his breath, but right now his breath and mine are indistinguishable in the small space between us so I hear it, "I got caught up and I didn't say it and I'm sorry."

It doesn't take me long to realise what he's talking about, even now, hours later and just awoken, it's at the forefront of my mind. "It's okay, you don't-"

But he cuts me off, or perhaps cuts off my attempt at cutting him off.

"I love you too, Baz."

His lips meet mine in the dark of our room, featherlight and fatigued. Maybe he's more exhausted than I thought.

"I'm sorry I forgot to say it, I woke up and I realised and-"

I kiss him this time, a soft, "it's okay, Love," passing between us. "Now can I get some fucking sleep?"

"I- yes, sorry."

He falls back to my side, head nestling into my neck and arm falling across my torso. I'm still holding him so I give him a gentle squeeze, pulling him closer like I'm trying to close distance that isn't there.

I press a kiss to his crown and let my words get lost in his curls, "thank you, Simon." I'm not sure if I'm apologising for him letting me sleep or him waking me up to tell me. Maybe both.

"Love you," he tells me again, fingers finding their way under the hem of my shirt.

"Love you, too. Now go the fuck to sleep."


End file.
